


Afghanistan from above

by Tysolna



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Pre-A Study in Pink, Prompt Fic, Soldier Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:52:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tysolna/pseuds/Tysolna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lieutenant John Watson, MD, RAMC, is being teased about his height by a bunch of paratroopers. They realise they underestimated the short medical man when he decides to join them in a training jump.<br/>Or, how "Mad Doc" Watson got his reputation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afghanistan from above

**Author's Note:**

> ~~This takes place pretty early in John's military career, hence he's just a lowly Colonel here. Though with an attitude like that, he's sure to rise quickly through the ranks!~~
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> I've been told that the command structure of the RAMC is not as found on Wikipedia; hence I have changed John's rank to Lieutenant, which seems to tally with the British Army website. Point is, this is a much younger John Watson than in we see on screen. Sorry for the confusion. :)

“I'm surprised they let you into the army”, the fresh-faced, muscled soldier chuckled. His mates were laughing, packing their gear and checking their parachutes for a training jump. “What're you gonna be when you grow up?” someone called, to renewed laughter.

Lieutenant John Watson, MD, RAMC, calmly continued organising the medical supplies the 3rd Battalion Paratroopers had ordered. A RAMC officer had to sign off on everything being present and correct, and John suspected he had been sent to the Paras as both a joke and some kind of punishment. He felt like being back in PE, being forced to play basketball with the tall kids. Only now it wasn't classmates with gym clothes and taunting sneers, but soldiers in uniform strutting their stuff and grinning at him.

He would not let them goad him into doing something silly, John promised himself. He would not.

“You've never thought about jumping out of an aircraft from 10,000 feet?”, someone else shouted. “Yeah I should have known that a little guy like you'd be afraid of heights!”

And there it was. Harry had used the same taunt to get John into all kinds of trouble, calling him a scaredy-cat and worse. He never told her, but John went willingly, and continued to go willingly into trouble, because trouble was exciting and he always got out again more or less unscathed.

Fuck those arrogant paras. He'd show them who was afraid. What could possibly go wrong? This was just another kind of jumping-out-of-trees, just higher and with the added safety of a parachute.

Still outwardly calm, John finished his task, signed the attached clipboards, then turned around to the soldier who'd started the not-so-friendly banter. Miller, read the name on his uniform.

“All right”, John said, “Anyone got any spare parachute I could borrow, then?”

 

The paras around him fell silent, and eyebrows rose. Miller took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Now, now, Doc, you're RAMC, you guys don't do that sort of stuff, right?”

Ooh, now it was on. Now it was not only John Watson's honour on the line, but that of the Medical Corps. Big mistake. John grinned the grin that had made many an opposing rugby player falter. “Sure we do”, he said, “but we keep it a secret so you paras won't feel useless. And we save your bullet-ridden arses when we land, too.”

That earned John approving laughter. “OK, Doc”, Miller said, “we've a training jump on in half an hour. Adams here's going to show you what's what, and if he thinks you can handle it, you're on the flight.” Everyone sauntered away, leaving John with Adams, who looked at him with a mixture of admiration and apprehension.

"You sure about this, Doc?” John nodded, excitement and dread pooling in his stomach. “All right, then. This is what is going to happen...”

 

Twenty-five minutes later, uniform supplemented with glasses and a helmet and with a parachute on his back, John clambered into the plane's fuselage to the applause and good-natured ribbing of the assembled paratroopers. He strapped in, grinning like a maniac, adrenalin flooding his system as the plane started to move.

Only minutes after they'd taken off, John was tapped on the arm. It was time. The paratroopers started to file towards the open door. Adams bent to shout at John. “If you've changed your mind, Doc, no harm done, you just stay here and land with the plane. All right?”

He could do that. No-one would think less of him if he bottled out now.

Well, fuck that shit. John unstrapped and got up to stand in line, a line that started to get shorter and shorter as the paratroopers started their jump. It was like sitting in the back of a roller coaster, where you saw the front suddenly disappearing before you yourself were...

 

… John jumped.

 

The air roared around him as he started to count, like Adams had told him to, trying not to tumble, keeping his arms and legs straight, not falling but flying, and when he got to ten he pulled on the release cord and was slammed back as the parachute unfurled above him. He tried to follow the others as best he could, holding on to the steering lines, looking at the magnificent sight of Afghanistan beneath him, the band of green of the Helmand river running through the many colours of sand and rocks, the mountains in the distance, and by God, it was beautiful.

 

Too soon, the Earth was coming closer, becoming more detailed, and there was the base and the airfield and some of the others were already landing. John'd have to be careful not to get tangled in their parachutes, never mind spot landing, he'd have to be sure to land running, or at least roll correctly when he...

 

John touched down not too gently, jarring his legs and spine and teeth, as if he'd miscalculated a step on uneven pavement, and then he ducked into a forward roll to get out from underneath the parachute that was landing softly behind him. He lay on the ground, slightly tangled in the parachute's lines, whooping and laughing with joy. The paratroopers – he recognised Adams and Miller – ran towards him, laughing at the crazy RAMC Doctor.

When John tried to get up, he hissed in pain – dammit, did he actually manage to sprain his ankle? That was unfortunate, how was he going to explain this to his superior? And how was he going to drive back to base? Aah, never mind that now, he was feeling too fantastic. He whooped again as Adams unstrapped him from the parachute. He laughed as he hobbled into a tent to sit down and assess his injury, while the assembled paras applauded and clapped him on the back.

 

In the end, the 3rd Para made up a good excuse, involving a discarded parachute, a freak gust of wind, and a pothole in the ground. Adams delivered a report to that effect when he drove John back to John's base, while telling him about the stuff Paratroopers did, and the exhilaration of high altitude parachuting into a war zone.

John was on paperwork duty until his ankle healed. He hated paperwork, but it was well worth the price for that parachute jump. Almost better though was the spreading rumour and reputation that the RAMC could and did breed soldiers like “Mad Doc” Watson.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've dredged together the information in the above story from various Wikipedia articles and my mum's stories about her parachuting days (yep, my mum is awesome). Any mistakes are mine.
> 
> Thanks go to Random Nexus for dragging me into the Watson's Woes challenge and finally getting me to write again.


End file.
